The Crossroad
by darkgemwildcat
Summary: What if Christine realised she loved Erik and left with him instead? Raoul, confused, trys to capture Christine back and kill the Phantom, beliving he put her under a trance. Will they escape him, and live happily ever after? NO LONGER A 1 SHOT!
1. Escape

**A/N: This is my fist Phantom of the Opera phic. Please review and tell me what you think. Also a big thanks to my friend blackkittywhiskers, who, even though she likes Raoul, read and edited this during our History class and gave me feedback over lunch. this is dedicated to her.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. **

As Raoul led her towards the boat, Christine spared one last look towards the Phantom, he was where she had left him, holding the ring she had returned. Everything about him was defeated now, and his deformed face was full of pain and sadness. _I have done this. _She thought, he had helped her with her voice, had been there to comfort her after her father's death, and now she was betraying him, leaving him to be killed by a mob!

She turned back around to look at Raoul. He wouldn't have ever noticed her if it wasn't for the Phantom, and now that she was going with Raoul, what would happen to her? Would she remain singing for the opera house? That didn't look likely, Raoul already stated that he couldn't marry an employee of his, that it wasn't professional.

If the Phantom had gone with his original plan, Christine knew her career in singing would have blossomed. Singing, the one thing that kept her close to her father. Looking back once more at the Phantom, it finally dawned on her that he was surrendering to a fate where he would die, and she and Raoul would live. Raoul could live for her, but her Phantom, her Angel could die for her.

A sharp pain ran up Christine's ankle as her foot collided with something, looking down, she saw that she had tripped over the side of the boat, where Raoul was standing in the middle of it, gripping her hand, "Come." He told her.

Christine looked back at the Phantom. Her Angel. He still stood where she had left him, a broken man. For a moment she was torn….

She made up her mind.

"Raoul-"

"We don't have time for this Christine, we have to go now." Raoul interrupted, looking fearfully at the Phantom, "We can talk later." He pulled on her arm, urging her to get in the boat.

"Raoul, no." Christine said, taking a deep breath to steady herself, "You go. I'm staying here."

"What?" Raoul hissed. "Christine, listen to me. That man is a _murderer_. Or have you forgotten that?"

"No, I haven't" Christine said softly. "But," she continued, mustering up her courage, "I just know I need to do this. Please. Go."

"He is putting you under some sort of trance, like in the graveyard." Raoul said, pulling on her arm once more.

"Raoul, please," Christine said, "I need you to believe me. I do have feelings for you, yes, but it's taken me up until now to realize that those feelings are simply what I would feel for a brother. Let me go."

Realization seemed to dawn on him. Raoul let go of her and stepped into the boat, steering it away without a backward glance.

Quietly Christine walked back to where the Phantom. When she reached him, he looked up slowly, an expression of disbelief written across his face. He breathed in deeply, "why have you returned?" he said bitterly, "Have you come to torture me one last time?"

"I was wrong." Christine said softly, "I let Raoul go without me. I want to be with you."

The Phantom's face darkened. "You should not have done this." He said, "Not now. They are coming." Suddenly shouts and heavy footsteps filled the tunnels. The mob was close. Christine looked across the subterranean lake, half expecting to see the mob splashing their way across, weapons at the ready "Hurry." The Phantom said, jarring Christine from her thoughts, "We need to go, hurry, we don't have much time!" His disfigured face was contorted with panic as he struggled to grab several stacks of music sheets, shoving them all in to a large leather case. He then grabbed his white mask off a table and slipped it onto his face. He turned to Christine and beckoned to her, she followed and the Phantom led her to a large throne, there he reached out a gloved hand and rapped the back of the chair. A trapdoor swung open with stairs leading downward into darkness. He ushered Christine inside before stepping in after her, in his haste, forgetting to close the trapdoor.

The Phantom took Christine's hand and led through the catacombs, the two quickly started off at a sprint, their footsteps echoing in the dark tunnels, and each breath they took in the musty, moldy air seemed to be amplified in sound by ten.

It was not long until they heard the yells; the mob was after them. Christine gasped, and the Phantom grasped her hand even tighter, just about pulling her into the darkness. Their pulses raced as the Phantom led the way through tunnel after tunnel.

Running through the labyrinth, time seemed to blur into one, endless timeframe. Christine did not know how long she was stumbling through the darkness, and feeling along the moss-covered stone walls, she had never run so much in her life, and soon her legs ached. Her breathing grew labored, but she'd dare not stop or slow down; the mob was getting closer. Panic gnawed at her, what if the mob caught them? Her Angel would be killed for sure.

Blind in the dark, Christine stumbled, her ankle twisting beneath her, she cried out and fell to the floor, her ankle biting in pain. She gasped, clutching her ankle, and attempting to stand back up, but to no avail. Her Angel knelt next to her, "No," she said, "Go. It's you they want. Not me."

The Phantom gritted his teeth. Never, in a thousand years would he ever think that he would've ever have won the sopranos' heart. He had tried so hard, and for what? Just to leave her? "No." he said, calmly but with a final note. "I have worked too hard to let you go know." Then he scooped her up in his arms and sprinted on through the tunnels. Christine closed her eyes and tried to keep her mind off her ankle, and the mob chasing after them, and focused instead on the surprising warmth that radiated from the Phantoms body, tingling every nerve in her like she was on fire. His heart was beating quickly, she could both hear and feel it, as her head rested against his strong chest. Christine breathed in deeply, he smelled of parchment and candle wax. She smiled to herself, forgetting about her leg and the mob, and let herself drift off to sleep…

Christine awoke hours later. Slowly, she sat up in the small bed, looking around. She was in a strange place; she didn't remember where she was or how she got there. Slowly the events of the last twenty four hours came back to her, and she looked around for her Angel. "_Angel of Music_" she sang softly, "_hide no longer, come to me Strange Angel_." Soft footsteps sounded and soon her Angel stood at her bedside, holding a burning candle. "Christine," He asked, "What is it?"

"Where are we?" she asked softly, not daring to speak above a whisper, in case this was a dream and she woke herself up. By the many candles scattered around the room, she could see they were in a small building, like a shed. "Away from the mob." He said darkly, before adding quickly, "I promise you Christine, this is only temporary. Once everything has died down, we can find someplace else, or even, if you don't mind, back to the opera house." He sighed. "I wish I could do better, but I can never be amongst people, I'm sorry I have brought you to this cursed life."

"I don't mind where we are, as long as I'm with you." Christine said gently, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "Angel, I cannot believe it, but I don't know your name."

"Erik." He said, "Erik Destler"

_Erik. _Christine thought, _That's a nice name. _

"Christine" Erik said, "I have answered your questions, now you must answer mine." Christine looked up, attentive. "Tell me," he began, "why did you come to me, a disgusting, horrific monster?" the last part he finished in a whisper, staring off into space.

Christine raised her hand, letting it fall gently on Erik's cheek, slowly she turned his face around to meet her gaze, and then she placed her palm over the right side of his face on the cold porcelain mask. Trailing her hand across the mask, she came to the rounded edge of it and tenderly pried it off his face.

This time she was not met by no angry outbursts, no looks filled with rage or betrayal written across his face; only wonderment that she was not screaming and running with terror, and curiosity. Slowly, Christine raised herself up, and lovingly kissed Erik's scarred cheek. "I cannot see any monster." She whispered, "and to answer your question;" she then tenderly placed a soft kiss on his lips, "I came home."

Erik smiled, then he reached out and gently held Christine's face in his hands and kissed her passionately.

Things were, at last, how they should be.

**A/N Love it? Please tell me in your loverly review. Hate it? Go away. **


	2. Return to The Opera

**A/N: This was meant to be a one shot, honest, but due to much support, I decided to expand it. Sorry for the wait, I had to deal with extreme power outages, screwy computers, school, Crew team, other fics, and laziness. Enjoy! OH, AND HAPPY ****VERY**** BELATED 25****th**** BIRTHDAY PHANTOM! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom. **

Slowly, Erik picked his way through the wreckage of the Opera Populaire. Ashes covered the once velvety, red carpets as thickly as the snow outside, and heavy oaken beams were scattered all around, sticking out of walls and from the high ceiling, charred, each and every one of them. Erik might've been angry that the only home he had ever known had been destroyed, but he was only filled with guilt that he had been the destroyer.

That guilt was only lessened by the fact that Christine was standing by his side.

He still couldn't believe she was with him at times, even though they had escaped form the mob weeks ago. They had bided their time in the small shed-like cottage until not only the search for the Opera Ghost had worn down, but until Christine's sprained ankle had mostly healed. She could stand on her own now, but still needed support from him to walk.

And now here they were. Erik knew that returning here was a risk, that it was the first place that anyone would look for him, but that is why he chose to come back, it seemed so obvious that he would return, that the police, or anyone else would think it too obvious and search elsewhere.

Erik sighed deeply. He then felt Christine's gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. He smiled, turning to her and placed an arm around her waist, helping her limp along to one of his secret passages.

As they descended into the darkness Erik watched Christine. She was gazing into space; deep in thought. She hadn't spoken much after the night she woke up in the shed, and Erik wondered if she was reconsidering her choice of him. He desperately wished she wasn't thinking about the Vicomte de Chagny. He needed her like he needed air to breath. He knew that, if she asked, he would let her go if she asked, he couldn't refuse her. But, of course he'd rather keep her with him.

If he hadn't known the exact layout of the catacombs from memory, Erik would've thought they were lost, but no, by the light of the single torch he held, he could see they were here once more. Now, even though it had slowed them down, he was very thankful he had brought with him many of his best pieces of music, as the floor was covered with torn, crumpled, and dirtied pieces of sheet music, destroyed beyond recognition. Adding to this, the multitude of candle scattered about the lair were smashed to pieces, also demolished. The great organ, however, remained intact.

After helping Christine limp to a chair, Erik began to shift though the garbage on the ground, seeing what could be saved.

Meanwhile, in another part of Paris, Raoul de Chagny sat at a large desk, deep in thought. Ever since he had left Christine below the opera house he hadn't stopped thinking about that moment. There had been something about her, when she said she was staying with the Phantom, something in her eyes which she had never seen before…

Raoul sighed, and downed a glass of wine that sat by his hand. Then, he reached across the desk to pour himself another glass. He heard what the servants were saying, he wasn't deaf. He heard their whispers of how he had taken to going out late at night to the bar, and had come back drunk in the early hours of the morning. So what if he was? That didn't concern them, damn it.

Raoul was well aware that the Phantom had some sort of odd, yet undeniably very powerful, control over Christine, hypnotizing her with his voice, almost. How she followed him seemingly out of her own free will…

Raoul laughed bitterly. As if. That monster. Raoul was absolutely positive of one fact: that when Christine was supposed to leave with him the Phantom had exercised this control, and had manipulated her mind, making her turn from him. Surely, Raoul reasoned, as he reached for the wine again, Christine was suffering now, if she still wasn't under the Demon's manipulation.

According to the police, there still had been no sign of the Phantom of the Opera, nor of Christine, and his domain had been utterly destroyed. They had given up on their search, claiming it was impossible to find, even a trace of him. True to his name, the Phantom had disappeared into the shadows.

Raoul thought of the abandoned Opera House. Surely the monster wouldn't return with Christine there, that's the first place that anyone would look, even if he could resurrect that damned place from its destruction. No, he wouldn't be there.

Raoul spread out a map of France onto his desk. _If I was a madman on the run, where could I hide? _He thought. The police may have given up on their search, but Raoul was only beginning his.

**A/N: sorry it's a wee bit short, it seemed appropriate to end it there though. REVIEW PLEASE! **


	3. The Past and The Deal

**A/N: here's the next chapter! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: still don't own. :(**

Hours had gone bye, and Erik had made a decent shift though the debris on the floor of his lair. He had, for as long as he could remember, been able to focus on one task mindlessly for extremely long stretches of time. The reason he could write an opera in a few months.

He turned to Christine. He had made her sit down so as not to harm her ankle, but she had made herself busy just the same, shifting through and organizing piles of sheet music, using the top of the organ as a table. Erik knelt nearby looking about the piles of broken candles and music that couldn't be saved, and the pile of everything that could. Finally, he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"Christine?" he asked, Christine jerked her head up from a piece of sheet music she had been absorbed in and responded with an inquiring; "hmm?"

"Is something wrong? You've been quiet recently." Softly he added, "If you wish to leave, I could understand."

Christine's eyes flew open. She was off the chair and kneeling beside him instantly, shaking her head, "No, no, no, Erik, it's not like that. I don't want to leave you."

"Then what is troubling you, Christine? Why haven't you spoken much? I don't want you to be unhappy."

Christine looked down at her hands, smiling shyly, a faint blush on her cheeks. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

Christine paused, "It's funny," she said, "I'm in love with you, yet I know almost nothing about you." She paused, looking up, "I've thought, and wondered, you never bring it up. Madame Giry told me about the Gypsies, but what happened before that?"

Erik almost breathed a sigh of relief, relieved she wasn't leaving him, then he grew anxious, his past wasn't something he liked to remember, let alone speak of. He sighed, running a hand through his hair nervously. "You don't want to know my past." He whispered, staring downwards.

Christine moved closer to him, placing her hands to cup his face, turning it to look at her. "Erik," she said, her voice soft, but with a serious tone to it, "I love you, nothing can ever change that"

Erik looked into her eyes. He sighed, "All-right" he whispered hoarsely. Christine smiled encouragingly and lightly kissed him.

He stood, and after helping Christine up, led her over to a red velvet couch. He sat and Christine made herself comfortable, curling into his side. Taking a deep breath, he began, "My parents were always alcoholics, the town drunks, the ones everyone ignored and despised. It wasn't uncommon of them to get drunk and start beating each other, or anyone around them. I was born with this… repulsion" he spat, waving his hand in a gesture to his masked face. "When my mother, most likely coming out of a drunken stupor, first saw me, she screamed, and she and my father tried to drown me in the kitchen sink. I was saved from this fate by my brother, Jean-Luke, ten years my senior, and my sister Vivian, twelve years older then I. In my childhood, they were the only two people to ever show me kindness…."

_FLASHBACK:_

_Erik, at age six, watched from a window as his older brother romped and roughhoused with the other boys of the small village. Erik was not allowed to go outside, he doubted that any of the other family's knew he existed, or even cared. No one liked the Destler family, with the exceptions of Vivian and Jean-Luke. _

"_Erik, come away from that window, you've been there for hours." Vivian said lightheartedly, leading him away, "You're a big, strong boy, why don't you help me with the firewood outback instead, alright?" _

_Erik sadly nodded, "why won't mother and father let me play with the other children? Why can't I go outside?"_

"_They don't understand Erik, they think ignoring the world will solve everything." She replied, crouching down to his level. _

"_it's because of my face isn't it." He said, "My bad face, that's why mother and father hate me, and tell me I'll never belong." _

_Vivian grasped him by the shoulders tightly, "Don't listen to them Erik." She said sternly, "you're better then that, if you do listen to them, they'll get to you, and that means they've won. Don't you ever, ever, let them win, do you hear me?" _

_Erik nodded. _

"_Good." Vivian said, straightening up, "And don't you forget that." She said, ruffling his hair. "c'mon, we need to get that firewood, don't we?" she took his hand and was abut to lead him through the backdoor to the fenced yard when a loud voice came from the other end of the house; "Hey you, girl!" the voice yelled. Vivian stiffened. "Come here!" _

"_Erik," she whispered urgently "go outside. Now." _

_Erik nodded and ran to the doorframe, but paused, listening. _

"_Yes, father?" his sister asked, walking to the opposite side of the house. _

_A few seconds later there could be loud yelling from both people, along with the sound of breaking bottles. Erik ran out the door._

_END OF FLASHBACK_

"At the time, I didn't know what they argued about, but now I know" Erik said, "My parents had engaged Vivian to a very wealthy merchant in the next town, in order to get more money to slake their alcohol addiction."

That's horrible." Christine whispered.

"It gets worse." Erik said, continuing with the story…

_FLASHBACK:_

_Erik sat under the table, hiding. His parents were both drunk, and Erik, Vivian, and Jean-Luke were_ _making themselves scarce. Erik squeezed his eyes tightly as a shadow passed close to his hiding spot, accompanied by uneven, drunken footsteps, and heavy breathing. A large hand reached under the table and grabbed him by the back of his neck, dragging him forcefully out into the open. "Think ya gonna hide, little monster!" the slurred voice of his father yelled, as he struck Erik in the face. Erik winced slightly, but he didn't cry out. "WELL?" his father screamed, smacking him again, "Answer me demon!" He punched Erik in the face, and the six year-old fell to the ground, bruised and bloodied, with no strength to attempt an escape. His father was about to attack again when out of on where, with an angry shriek, Vivian tackled the man, kicking, biting, hitting and scratching. Their father roared and grabbed her and threw her against the wall, where she slumped to the ground, never to move again, her neck broken in two._

_END OF FLASHBACK_

Erik hadn't realized it, but as her retold his story, and relived the memories, tears had fallen down his face. Christine reached up and wiped them away with the soft caresses of her hands and her gentle kisses. "I'm sorry." She whispered, still stroking his face.

"Don't be," he said, taking one of her hands in his own and softly kissed the knuckles, "What's done is done. It's over now."

Christine wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face against his chest. "Please tell me its over," She whispered. Erik shook his head. Seeing how Christine was becoming upset by his past, he added, "but I don't have to continue if you don't want me too."

Christine shook her head "No. No, go on."

Erik continued, "In order to make up for the money they didn't gain from marrying off Vivian, my parents instead sold me to the gypsies…"

_FLASHBACK_

_"Jean-Luke, where am I going?" Erik asked, as his mother and father talked with a shady-looking man outside, Erik didn't know who the man was, or what he wanted, or why he was here in the dead of night, Erik only knew he was going with him. _

_Jean-Luke sighed, "I honestly don't know." He admitted. This knowledge frightened Erik, who was very close to his older brother, and trusted the sixteen-year old with his life, trusted him to know everything, as he was still very naïve in his youth. "But Erik," his brother said, "these are not good people, do you understand? They'll be worse then mother and father." Seeing his younger brothers frightened expression, he added, "Don't worry, you wont go alone, I'm gonna go with you." _

"_Really?" __Erik asked, still frightened._

"_Really." His brother assured him. "Just give me a day to join them, so it won't look like I know you. I'm gonna watch out for you Erik."_

_Then his mother stormed into the room, dragging Erik out by the back of the neck outside. Money was passed over and soon Erik was thrown into a world crueler and harsher then before…_

_END OF FLASHBACK_

"The next day, sure enough, was my brother. He was put in charge of seeing to me. He helped me, sneaking me food and medicine, tending to the many wounds I attained from the gypsies' whips and fists, its not I time I like to relive, nor will I trouble you, my dear, with all the gruesome details."

"How long were you in that Hell hole?" She cried passionately, already knowing the rest of the story, and Madame Giry's rescue of him.

Erik raised his eyebrows, never had he know Christine to swear. "Three years," he said, "I came to the Opera house when I was nine."

"Oh." Christine said, looking out across the lair, "that must have been so lonely."

"It was better then the torment of before." He said darkly. Seeing her upset face he added, "I'm sorry, I-"

"It's alright." She said quickly, cutting him off. Erik sighed, "Six years. I spent six years in silence. It was then I taught myself to play and compose music, listening, and watching the singers and musicians, sneaking down after everyone was asleep and reading the maestro's notes. Six years. Then you came." He said, turning to her, a faint smile on his lips. "Scared and alone, like I first was when I came here, seeing you, in that chapel, mourning your father, faced with hardships no child so young should have to face- I felt a connection to you. Helping you, guiding you, I had a purpose, and it wasn't until later, that I realized that-" he paused, and went on in a whisper- "that I was falling in love with you."

Christine smiled, lifting her head from his chest and shifting her body so she knelt on the couch, facing him. She reached out her hands, stroking his face with one hand, the other rested on the mask. Erik closed his eyes, relaxing under her soft touch. "Promise me something." She whispered, her lips a few mere centimeters from his own, her sweet breath on his face. He wanted desperately to close the gap, those minuscule centimeters, and capture those soft lips in his own, but he refrained; instead he whispered: "Anything."

Christine skimmed her hand across the mask to the edge and eased it off his face. She kissed the marred cheek. "No more hiding from me from behind that mask." She whispered, then, she pulled him into a passionate, heated kiss, pressing herself flush up against him. Erik held her close, savoring the feel, the taste of her. When they parted they were both breathing heavily, Erik's heart beating loudly in his chest.

"Christine, I love you." He murmured, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I love you too" she said, smiling. Then she leaned her head on his chest again, stifling a yawn. Erik chuckled, and checked his pocket watch, "It's late, you should get some rest." He said, then without warning he scooped her up in his arms and walked in the direction of the swan bed.

"I can walk." Christine mumbled into his shirt. Erik only chuckled laying her down on the bed before kissing her forehead, "Goodnight, love" he said, straightening up and starting to walk away.

"Erik?" Christine called; he turned around. "Do you know what happened to your brother?"

He was silent for a moment. "Dead." He answered his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. "They found him sneaking me medicine and food. Beat him, right in front of me. Dragged him away. There was one gunshot." He paused, carrying on in a harsh whisper "And then there was silence." He turned and walked away into the darkness. Christine watched him go, tears running down her face, _Oh my Angel, _she thought, _why must life be so cruel? I swear to you, I'll make it worth living. I promise. _

The de Changney Manor

The man who stood in front of the Viscount was tall, and very tan, with dark hair in waves up to his shoulders, and dark eyes. He had no name to speak of, in his line of work, no one did, in fact, with what he did, he was better left without one.

And he was very good at what he did.

"I have heard good things about you." The Viscount said leaning forward in his chair. "I hope they are correct."

The man grinned smugly, he didn't like the viscount, there seemed to be more drink then sense in him, none the less he replied simply, "Yes. They are."

"You better be, I'm paying you 200 francs upfront" he grumbled.

"Mostly" the Man said "I require another hundred after I complete my job."

The Viscount glared, then, he then pulled out two drawings. "These are the two you are looking for. You are to bring the women, Christine, back to me, alive and unharmed, clear?" The man nodded, taking the picture of the young opera singer.

"And the other?" he asked.

The Viscount handed the next picture over, on it, a dark-haired man wearing a white half-mask over his face. "him," he said, "I want you to kill, and in the worst and most painful way you know how."

The man smiled. "I accept." He said.

**A/N: soooooo what'd you think? Hmmmm? Also this has to be the longest chapter I've ever written, so yeah, a new record for me REVIEW!**


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